


Among Artists

by littlebrownshoe (Wolfy_Tales)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwalin and Ori are huge fans of the other, M/M, Unabashedly cute, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfy_Tales/pseuds/littlebrownshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori is in total awe not of Dwalin's battle prowess, muscles or tattoos. No, the scribe is quite interested in Dwalin because of a drawing the warrior made as a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among Artists

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit.

 

 

_A Dwori one-shot about artistic appreciation._

.

Ori was just about to pass by Balin to get to his own messy desk when he paused. The white-haired dwarf was leaning over his desk with a fond smile that made his face look as kind as his heart. Balin would obviously never look at work like that, no matter how dedicated he was, but what else would it be?

"What are you looking at, Master Balin?"

Ori thought that it might be interpreted as rude to interrupt the dwarf he had just begun apprenticing with, but he could not resist. The young dwarf had always been intuitive, even though Dori always said it would get his braids nabbed and cut.

"Just a drawing my younger brother did for me," Balin said with a fond sigh before handing over the wrinkled page.

Ori raised an eyebrow at the admittance before looking down at the drawing. Well, if it could be called that. Because it was truly just a scribble. The figures were disproportioned and drawn with random colors. What elf (it must have been that, with the pointed ears and equally pointed teeth) had blue skin and purple hair? And was that an orc or just a convoluted tree? Most of them just looked like messy clouds of coal dust.

"How old is he?" Ori asked warily, suddenly wondering if there were many other dwarves born outside of Erebor. Ori was practically one as he had been but a babe when Dori had rushed him out of the mountain on fire.

Balin blinked for a moment before laughing loudly, picking up on Ori's thoughts, and declared: "That drawing is closer to your age than my stiff brother."

Ori nodded to hide his surprise, eyes still set on the picture. Once he got over how crude it was, it was honestly an engaging piece. Dori had saved all Ori's drawings he had made as a child, and at times Ori wished he had the freedom he had as a child. Then he had no inhibitions about his drawings, and allowed the act of it to make him feel like each one was a masterpiece.

Now Ori could draw a realistic portrait like few others even at his young age, but there was a pureness to this drawing that made Ori wonder if he was going about the process right. Children drew just for the simple, impulsive desire to. They did not criticize their work, and took it for whatever they desired it to be. No, Ori's first impression on how messy this drawing seemed unfounded and snobbish now.

"You can keep it."

Balin's voice snapped Ori from his heavy staring, and his head snapped up to blink rapidly at his mentor.

"I couldn't do that," the younger dwarf immediately argued. "It's one of your rare belongings from Erebor. You need to keep it."

"I have a fair amount of them with me here, and more in the mountain gathering dust. So take that one. Heaven forbid nearly all he ever drew were the elves and orcs he'd one day take down. My heart can take parting from one."

Ori felt a smile stretch his face, and turned back to the drawing. He blinked as he realized that one of the shorter figures carried an ax and had impressive, wild hair. It was nearly as formidable as his deep frown made in orange crayon. Ori wondered if that was the artist's self-portrait, and giggled.

Ori put away the drawing in his sketchbooks for inspiration, and there it sat for a good long while. Until he was called along with his brothers to see about a journey and a dragon.

.

The first time Ori met Dwalin was when they were all sitting around in a hobbit hole after dinner. Their host was gone somewhere, and Ori wondered if he was the only one feeling the least bit guilty for eating so much of his food. He had tried to be polite about where to put his plate, but then of course the others had to come along with a nice tune and Ori was swept away.

There was not much familiarity between the two in appearances, but when Dwalin looked at Kíli harshly, the steel in his eyes was all too familiar for Ori. Not because he was often in need of discipline from his past mentor, but because Ori had seen other scribes idiotically dismiss Balin for his strict habit of upholding tradition.

Then Ori wanted to hit himself because it was so  _obvious_! The sons of Fundin were not ones to be trifled with. While Fundin had himself fallen at Moria, he had made quite a name of himself even without his link to the royal Durin line. Ori had read about Balin's strength that only his intelligence rivaled, and he did not even have the massive frame Dwalin did. Ori was mighty glad Dwalin was on their side in this quest.

Ori felt for his sketchbook and thought about the drawing he had tucked in to his sketchbook. In a parting ritual before leaving for the journey, Ori had chronologically gone through his sketchbooks from the past. The dwarf did it to calm his mind for the turmoil approaching, and to see how much he had improved through the years. To remind himself that he would need dedication and resolve to get through his adventure alive in body and mind, just like it had taken to fill all those books.

The young dwarf had come across the drawing then, tucked safely in a sketchbook finished over two decades ago. Ori had giggled freely at the drawing before tucking it in his newest sketchbook he would bring. He thought it like a token: it had a mighty dwarf taking on both elves and orcs. Yes, Ori would need the bravery a child had felt while making it.

After their somber song, everyone mostly went to bed for the long day ahead. But Ori was busy scuttling about investigating the odd little home with so many soft curves, and everyone let him because they knew he would not break anything. Except he did nearly that with a vase when Balin suddenly called out for him from the fire.

"Ori lad, I want to introduce you to my brother Dwalin. Busy sort, since he never came around the shop before. And always doing patrols every night and day to come to all the meetings," Balin said as he clapped a warm hand over his taller sibling.

"Pleasure to meet you," Ori said breathlessly.

In a way it truly was: Balin had told many stories of his brother. And Ori had read all the accounts of major battles, and had always seen Dwalin's name written in with the generals or whatnot. He had just taken a long moment to connect the face with the name and legacy.

Dwalin nodded once, not offering a hand to shake. At least until Balin cleared his throat pointedly, and with a roll of his eyes that seemed childish in the face of one so scared and tattooed, Dwalin uncrossed his arms and offered a rough paw for Ori to shake.

"Don't hurt yourself," Dwalin muttered as Ori's fingers danced around the sharp metal that decorated his knuckles before finding a hold.

"So you don't hurt your writing hand," Balin added kindly, obviously to soften his brother's rough statement.

Ori chuckled lightly, and resisted the urge to blush. Because how did he go about saying to this mountain of a dwarf that he had one of his childhood sketches stashed away in his pocket without either insulting Dwalin or coming off as a total creep?

.

There was so much to see and draw at Beorn's it was hard for Ori to pick what to capture first. There were all the magnificent animals who would probably sit still if he asked nicely, massive furry bees, and the piles upon piles of flowers they buzzed at all around.

Nearby he could see Bilbo walking about, smelling the flowers and overall enjoying life to the fullest. He wanted to call away the hobbit and ask if he wanted to draw with him, as the hobbit have given Ori some guest sketches in his book, but Bilbo looked too content to bother.

That made Ori decide to first focus on some clovers, as those were the main reason for the glorious honey he was sure to miss when they left.

The scribe was so busy staring and sketching that he did not see the shadow of another stand next to him. It was only the creak of wooden boards under pressure that made the scribe jump and turn to the harsh sound.

Dwalin seemed oddly apologetic and gave his massive shoulders a shrug in apology. Ori stared a long moment, silently wondering just what the other dwarf needed from him, or if he really had just decided to stop on that exact spot on the massive porch next to Ori for no reason.

"Your way of mark making is quite brash," Dwalin said with what Ori might call a smile. "You don't even start with pencil, and just go straight to ink. You also don't bother with trying to do exact realism, and favor instead to decide where the crosshatches go in your opinion."

"I've never heard anyone so eloquently compliment my style," Ori said with a blush. "Nori commends me for the objects I draw being recognizable, and Dori simply smiles and gushes."

"In honesty, I always wanted to be an artist," Dwalin revealed. "But then Balin went for the scholarly life, and I was too tall and broad to not be put to use on the battlefield."

Ori nodded, wanting Dwalin to continue this odd talk more about himself, but the dwarf had reverted back to his stubborn silence.

Dwalin only shrugged once more before sitting down beside Ori. The younger dwarf felt a spike of dread at having someone watching him, but when he snuck a glance he noted Dwalin was not studying him and was instead looking out at the gardens. Sensing Ori's gaze, the warrior looked down at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Am I distracting you?" he asked lowly.

"No!" Ori rushed to answer. "No, no, not all. No."

Ori wanted to punch himself in the face, or at least bang his forehead against his knee. It was not so unrealistic that Dwalin would sit with him. They had done it a few times at dinner, and they had rode on their ponies parallel to each other at some points. Ori was sure they had bolted out of the mountains with goblins at heels side-by-side. And Dwalin had offered one of his axes when Ori did not have the ammunition or time to use his slingshot. Yes, they were acquaintances at best, so Ori should not have an internal meltdown at Dwalin sitting beside him.

Dwalin gave a low hum, that sounded more like a rumble of rocks, in agreement. Ori gave a final nod in return before turning back to his pages of clovers and bees.

It took a few minutes for Ori to calm his heart, but thankfully his hands did not shake as he continued scratching his quill on the book's pages. Soon enough the scribe was back in that oblivious state of drawing with only that in mind.

Once Ori thought he drew enough flowers, he moved next to the dogs and foxes that darted about the garden, and then the mice that scuttled over his boots. Finally, he focused on the near-silhouettes of the ponies in the fields past the garden's gate.

It was only when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder that Ori stopped and looked up to see Dwalin standing up, saying something about getting called in for dinner. The younger dwarf felt his ears heat in embarrassment: he had spent the entire afternoon essentially ignoring the older dwarf over his sketches.

As if sensing Ori's unease, Dwalin looked back down and offered a hand to help Ori up. The scribe took it, and yelped as Dwalin effortlessly lifted him up to his feet with just a flex of his arm.

"I'm not very good at multi-tasking as well, and I enjoyed the rare quiet," Dwalin said with a nod, "Thank you for your company."

"Yes, my pleasure, at your service anytime really," Ori said with a smile threatening to crack his face in half.

Dwalin studied him for a moment more, eyes darting down to his ink stained fingertips that were still in Dwalin's grip, before nodding and letting the younger dwarf go.

Ori took a moment to try and fish his heart out of his gut before following after Dwalin.

.

Ori was not having such a good day. The dwarf had not had one in a while, now that he thought over it, but this day was especially stressful.

For one, because it had been another day in a line of many in Mirkwood. The days had all blended together, and Ori could not even remember the last time he had slept. Secondly, because some massive spiders had decided to roll them up and have them for a meal. (Ori thought it was nearly as bad the as trolls throwing them in bags, or over the fire. The dwarf wondered how many other things they would get wrapped up or throw into on their journey.)

Lastly, there were now stiff-faced elves taking all their weapons and possessions. Ori thought he finally understood just why Nori hated it each time he got caught: this was demeaning on a whole new level.

While the other elves was busy taking off a minimum of five weapons from every dwarf, the one assigned to Ori stared at his slingshot and small knife in confusion. Thinking that this obviously could not be right, the elf continued searching Ori enough to find his sketchbook.

Clearly the elf was surprised of a dwarf having anything like this on his person, as he called over some other elves before opening the pages. Ori felt himself stiffen in sudden anger: how rude to look through someone's intimate sketchbook without even asking for permission first! And the elves thought the dwarves were the ones without manners!

Yet Ori's hot anger was instantly cooled in a second when an elf picked out Dwalin's drawing from old. They stared at it, probably confused at the odd contrast it had with all the other ink drawings found in the book. They must have recognized their race in the drawing, as they clamored for others to come and see it as they held it up.

Ori almost wished he was still wrapped up in a spider's web, so he could at least be hidden from the outside world. It was clearly a death wish, but this embarrassment already felt like dying. The elves had made such a commotion he was sure Dwalin had looked over as well.

The young dwarf wanted to be brave, but he was tired, and all he wanted was his sketchbook back. He did not have the courage to look at anyone in the face, even with Nori beside him whispering supportive words.

Finally after a minute or so more the elves got over their entertainment. They carelessly folded the drawing, and Ori whimpered at thinking of the harsh creases they were putting into it that would now never truly go away.

Ori thought that it would be given back to him, but instead the elf kept it with all the other's weapons. So the elves were not only rude, but shallow. Ori almost wished he had not been so fascinated with their languages if this was what they were truly like.

It was disheartening to get thrown in cells all their own, but it was not nearly as bad as realizing they had lost everything. Nori had made that slingshot for Ori years ago, he would never be able to finish that sketchbook, and his token was gone.

With no one else around to see, Ori tucked himself in a ball and tried not to sob loud enough for the others to hear.

"You had something of mine, lad."

Dwalin's low voice made Ori jolt his head out from his knees, and he scrambled to get to the bars at the entrance of his cell. He had not realized he had been put next to Dwalin.

Ori nodded back, and then dully realized the other dwarf could not see it, so he said softly: "Balin gave it to me a while back when I started apprenticing with him."

"You've kept it all this time?" Dwalin asked, and Ori could not discern the emotion that came with those words.

"I liked it quite a lot," Ori muttered into his gray shawl in misery at another reminder it was gone.

Dwalin huffed, before Ori could hear the scruff of his boots moving about in his cell. The warrior was clearly pacing, but it was better than when he had been brashly throwing himself at the bars like a desperate animal.

Later, even while Ori wondered if he would live to see the sun rise tomorrow over this accursed river, the scribe was thankful the elves had taken their belongings. If Ori had his sketchbook now it would have been damaged beyond repair, and he was sure Dwalin's drawing would have been lost to the rapids.

.

Ori looked up from his desk when he heard someone stop walking before him. When he looked all the way up to the tattooed head and grim face, Ori felt his spine straighten in a snap.

"Master Dwalin," Ori greeted cordially, if not a tad stiffly in surprise at this sudden visit.

The warrior nodded, and with his head slightly bowed, Ori noted something had returned.

"You have Grasper and Keeper back," Ori said in a gasp before a grin covered his freckled face. "So Thorin was able to coordinate getting our belongings' returned!"

"He would probably have left everything there to rot if the princes did not whine daily about missing their bow and knives."

Ori nodded along, thinking it was nice for once that Dwalin was leading the conversation. That, and how the warrior had sought him out personally. After they had reclaimed the mountain and everyone had healed, there had been little time for pub reunions. Ori still saw glimpses of Dwalin on watch, or walking beside Thorin. The scribe always gave a timid wave and smile, and Dwalin would nod in return.

"I thought I would bring these to you," Dwalin said roughly as he handed over a bundle that had Ori's names neatly written in runes.

Smiling, Ori finally stood up from his desk and took a small step closer to Dwalin. He lifted his eyes up to meet Dwalin's for a moment before reaching forward and taking the package. He ripped apart the brown paper, and laughed when he saw his old slingshot and sketchbook.

"Oh, how I missed this!" Ori said with a laugh as he put aside the slingshot and held his old book. "I should think there are some odd things to see in here!"

"Still have my drawing?" Dwalin asked in a rumble.

"Unless the elves were so flattered by your color choices they decided to keep it," Ori said before opening his sketchbook. He let it naturally open to the drawing that the elves had rudely folded and stuffed inside.

Ori put aside his sketchbook and attempted to smooth out the creases that bisected the drawing on his desk. He could not help but frown, as while it was clearly not ruined by the folds, it distracted from the drawing.

"I have something else to give you."

The younger dwarf turned away from the drawing to the artist, and forced himself to smile and nod. Dwalin stared at Ori's open face, and then shuffled on his feet for a moment (like he was the skittish one), before pulling out some rolled up papers from his tunic.

Ori eagerly grasped them, and then moved back to sit on his desk to untie the leather strap and unravel whatever Dwalin had given him. He could feel the taller dwarf move to stand directly behind Ori, and the scribe felt nervous and giddy at his sudden present and close presence.

What first struck out to Ori of the design was the near chaotic display of color. He blinked and looked again, and then realized that it was probably a ceiling of diamonds reflecting all sorts of colors.

He moved that aside, and the next was a bow with a crooked arrow notched on it. The one after was what Ori thought was a raven, but it could easily have been a bat. Or even an  _Oliphant_  for all the odd proportions and distortions. The next one was of two figures cutting off orc heads, and Ori squinted at the messy runes that spelled out two names. When he read 'Balin' and 'Dwalin,' realization struck him sudden and hard.

"Why didn't you give these to your brother?" Ori exclaimed as he turned in his chair to glare at Dwalin.

The warrior seemed shocked at Ori's sudden aggression, and took a moment to blink. Yet he did not take a step back, even as Ori felt his frown deepen.

"Actually, it was Balin's idea," Dwalin revealed after a tense moment.

Ori deflated at that, before turning back to the drawings laid out on his desk. They truly were things to marvel over, and he would have to preserve them as the paper was too fragile to be out in the open like this anymore.

"Why would you agree?" Ori asked dejectedly.

"I thought we could do a trade," Dwalin said, bringing Ori's attention back to him.

"You'd like a drawing by me?" Ori asked with a smile, turning back to look up at Dwalin. "I'm actually going through portraits for everyone right now."

"I was thinking more of, well... would you like to spend an afternoon without our brothers hovering about?"

Ori blinked, and laughed freely before nodding his head eagerly. It made his braids swing about his face annoyingly, but it was entirely worth it to see the slight smile that made Dwalin look so gentle. That and hopeful, like these childhood drawings of glory to be grasped.

The scribe stood up, and fidgeted for a bit before taking a step closer to Dwalin. It was endearing in how even on his tiptoes Ori could not reach him, so the warrior leaned down a tad so the younger dwarf could press his forehead tenderly against his.

"I would like that quite a lot," Ori said softly between them.

Dwalin gave a rough chuckle in clear relief, and Ori giggled himself when their noses bumped together.

.

FIN


End file.
